


Relaxing

by StarshipDancer



Series: Tumblr Quirrellmort Prompts [3]
Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, back massages, jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 20:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15469512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarshipDancer/pseuds/StarshipDancer
Summary: rumpleteazergrace asked: Quirrellmort and 6?6. "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"





	Relaxing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rumpleteazergrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpleteazergrace/gifts).



“Voldemort.” Quirrell walked into their bedroom, exhausted from the day’s work, and began to loosen his tie. He took one look at the bed, frowned, and deliberately dropped his tie on the floor. Voldemort visibly twitched.

“Yes, Squirrel?” Voldemort asked sweetly, trying to keep his gaze from straying to the discarded garment. He wasn’t doing a very good job.

**“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”**

Voldemort indicated to the towel wrapped precariously around his waist. He must have taken a shower recently. “I’m not naked. I have a towel. Besides, this is _our_ bed.”

Quirrell sighed and, with a deadpan stare right into Voldemort’s eyes, unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it onto the floor. Voldemort couldn’t help the spike of arousal he felt shoot right to his groin. _Man, what a fucking power move_.

“If you come a little closer, I can take care of your clothes,” Voldemort offered with a wag of his eyebrows.

“Voldemort, I’m tired. I had a long day at work, I have a _million_ papers to grade, and I don’t have time for this right now. I’m sorry, but could we postpone until this weekend or something?”

Voldemort frowned a little, deflating a bit. The two of them rarely spent any time together anymore. Quirrell was always busy with work and papers and more work and… Well, Voldemort was beginning to feel a little neglected. He sat up on his elbow, “Quirrell, do you ever worry that our relationship is losing its spark?”

Quirrell dryly appraised Voldemort, still naked on the bed that he would very much like to be sleeping in right now. “Not really.”

Voldemort sat up a bit more, sitting with his legs crossed. The towel slid down a bit on his hips but stayed in place. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Quirrell squinted at him suddenly, suspicious. “Why? Do… do _you_?”

“What? No! I just… I feel like we haven’t had much time for... you know. Us.” Voldemort began to fidget, uncertainty written all over his face. He didn’t like to complain; his life with Quirrell was better than what he believed he deserved, after all the shit he’d done.

“Voldemort,” Quirrell murmured, his gaze softening. He crossed the room and took a seat beside Voldemort, reaching over to take his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize how often I’ve been busy lately. I just want us to have a good life, so I work as much as I can.”

“Quirrell, you don’t have to try so hard.” Voldemort wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, tugging him close until Quirrell rested on him completely. “Don’t overdo it because you think you have to just to make me happy. All I’d ever need to have a good life is in my arms right now.”

Quirrell laughed softly, pulling up one of Voldemort’s hands to kiss his knuckles. “You’re such a sap, you know that? I think it’s all the movies you’ve been watching.”

“Hey, Zefron makes an impression!” Voldemort began to laugh with him, and Quirrell leaned up to kiss the sound from his lips. Voldemort sighed, pressing into him sweetly and catching Quirrell’s cheek in his chin. His hand caressed Quirrell’s skin with featherlight touches, moving around to slide into Quirrell’s hair.

“Voldemort,” Quirrell said against his mouth, chuckling through his unintimidating warning. “I’m sorry, but I’m really not in the mood.”

“What? Can’t I appreciate the love of my life’s hair?” Voldemort asked innocently.

Quirrell gave him a doubtful stare. “Not when you know what it does to me.”

“All right, okay, fine.” Voldemort moved his hand down to Quirrell’s shoulder, which he squeezed gently. “Jeez, you feel so tense!”

“It’s from—mmm… sitting at a desk and grading papers,” said Quirrell, swaying closer to Voldemort as he began to knead Quirrell’s shoulders. “You don’t—you don’t have to—”

“Bullshit. Let me help you relax after you’ve worked so hard today.” Voldemort sat Quirrell more comfortably on the bed and took up position behind him. He ran his hands over the bare skin of Quirrell’s shoulders, humming in appreciation.

“Your back is beautiful,” he murmured, bending to press a soft kiss to the back of Quirrell’s neck.

“I—I—It’s really not,” Quirrell stammered, flushing.

Voldemort huffed a little, wishing he could make Quirrell see himself the way Voldemort did. Quirrell always complained that he was too thin, too gangly, too hunched, but Voldemort loved all of these things about him. He loved the way Quirrell would shiver when Voldemort ran a hand down his spine, or how he leaned into him, so trusting, when Voldemort began to work the knocks out of his shoulders.

Voldemort loved everything about Quirrell, but he mostly loved how easily it was to make Quirrell jelly in his arms. He’d hardly done any work, and Quirrell was already whining in pleasure. He took a deep breath, trying not to get turned on by those cute noises, but it was _hard_. Uh. No pun intended.

Hard when he could look around and see Quirrell biting his lip. Could hear his breath hitching and then releasing in content sighs. This was about making Quirrell feel better, though. Making Quirrell feel _good_.

Voldemort’s hands worked their way down Quirrell’s back until he reached his hips, and he tried not to go any further. He really did.

But Quirrell’s ass was _right there_ , and Voldemort couldn’t resist giving a nice, two-handed squeeze. Quirrell squeaked in surprise, and Voldemort moved his hands back up to his waist, sliding them along the Quirrell’s boney angles.

“Just making sure you don’t have any knots down there, too,” he lied, moving around to rub his fingertips against Quirrell’s stomach. He was always so _flat_. Hardly any fat at all, but not for lack of trying. Voldemort was a damn good cook, and he’d been trying to put some meat on Quirrell’s bones for months now. Quirrell just stayed skinny.

“Is that so?” Quirrell mumbled, all but boneless as he leaned back against Voldemort’s chest. He laughed a bit, turned his head so he could kiss Voldemort’s throat. “Sure it doesn’t have anything to do with your boner?”

“Positive,” Voldemort swore, still lying. Badly. His hands edged down a bit to unbutton Quirrell’s slacks. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing pants. Don’t you want to get more comfortable?”

“My last effort at keeping my virtue,” said Quirrell, dignified, and Voldemort snorted.

“What virtue? After everything _we’ve_ done in the bedroom, I don’t think you have any virtue left.” Voldemort slid a hand under Quirrell’s waistband and waited for Quirrell to pull it back out. Instead, Quirrell readjusted his position, giving Voldemort more room.

“What are you looking for?” Quirrell asked, too loosened up to do anything but lean comfortably on against Voldemort’s chest. He kept placing well-aimed kisses along the column of Voldemort’s throat, his tongue darting out to leave a few wet spots in his wake.

Voldemort’s fingers closed around Quirrell’s dick, bringing him to harness with long, languid strokes. Quirrell began to squirm, his ass rubbing against Voldemort’s hard-on in the process. “More knots.”

Whining, Quirrell nodded, trying to thrust up into Voldemort’s hand. A steady hold on Quirrell’s hip prevented him, and he pouted. “You’re such a bastard. Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t in the mood?” he asked, sounding more amused than reprehensive.

“And I’m respecting that! I just want to help you relax.” Voldemort tilted his head, catching Quirrell’s ear between his teeth and biting gently. Quirrell’s entire body shook, and he released his first actual moan. “Is it working?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Quirrell confessed, grinding even more against Voldemort’s dick in a desperate attempt for friction. Voldemort just kept stroking him, thumb swiping along his slit occasionally to collect the perspiration beading there.

Sex with Quirrell was always amazing. Whether he was being fucked or doing the fucking, though, Voldemort had one favorite thing that always did it for him: watching Quirrell come undone. There was nothing more arousing than seeing Quirrell brow bead with sweat, his eyes alight in ecstasy, his mouth open and quietly panting. Hearing him plead, beg, _praise_ Voldemort until all he could whisper was his name—

And then he’d bite his lip, his eyes squeezing shut as all of the tension left his body. Voldemort moaned quietly in his ear, short of breath himself as he worked Quirrell through the last of his orgasm. Quirrell’s entire weight was against him now, completely slack and sated, and Voldemort pressed a chaste kiss to his parted lips.

“How was that?” Voldemort asked.

Quirrell hummed, beyond satisfied. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Voldemort repeated, mildly offended until he heard Quirrell’s exhausted laughter.

“ _Wonderful_.” Quirrell pulled his head back down for another kiss, this one a little more wet and with much more tongue. Then he pulled back his nose scrunched up. “I need to change my pants.”

Voldemort chuckled. “I need to change my towel.”

“We should do that more often.”

“Definitely, but with less clothes.”

“Definitely.” Quirrell hadn’t moved yet, and Voldemort wasn’t about to complain. He’d hold Quirrell there as long as he could. All part of the plan, in fact.

He couldn’t _actually_ believe his plan had _worked_. He’d have to surprise Quirrell more often.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at neonganymede.tumblr.com !


End file.
